


mercurial

by demios



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alphascape spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other, awkward touching for "science"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: Between their visions of the past and godslaying, keeping an ancient warmachine from a distant star for company is, arguably, one of the less outlandish things they've done.





	mercurial

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhh yeah. sorry

In the end, Omega doesn't leave. Not entirely, anyways.

“I wish to understand you.” Those cold, unfeeling eyes held the spark of something nascent when they met the warrior’s on a backdrop of crystallized stars.

They don't know why they acquiesce to the request in the middle of the interdimensional rift. Perhaps it's because they're tired of watching their enemies die. Perhaps it has something to do with feeling a faint sort of kinship with the other - that they, too, are only seen as a weapon without equals when it is impossibly lonesome to bear such a mantle. Or maybe it's because Omega, defeated and in a weakened state, is still pushy enough to want to accompany them on their travels after putting an end to its grandiose experiment.

Alpha decides to venture on his own, taking in the sights of Eorzea with a cheerful _kweh!_ after he set off from Gyr Abania _._ Omega makes itself perfectly clear its new directive is to observe the Warrior of Light in a less antagonistic manner and promptly foists itself onto them when they depart. Though they notice it’s also taken a keen interest in examining the surrounding areas when the warrior is asleep, always making some remark about the landscape’s flaws or illogical actions of the locals when they wake.

The weapon is still remorseless for its actions, but there is something to be said for the subtle change in its demeanor - it's less callous. Less intolerable, too. The warrior likes to think _maybe_ it could be regretful for almost destroying the star and every soul on it one day. For now, it's become another part of their abstract standard of normal, between their visions of the past and godslaying. Keeping an ancient warmachine from a distant star for company is, arguably, one of the less outlandish things they've done.

Or they can pretend it is, because Omega can pass for an unamused hyur in the warmly lit tavern, save for the fact that it never eats. While it sits across from the warrior at their shared table, it only spares a cursory glance at the tankard of water it was given. The Warrior of Light, on the other hand, is partaking in a feast befitting of the miracles they conjure everyday.

“You have explained to me the necessity of emotions and have exhibited a wide spectrum of the aforementioned during our time together.” Omega says, its voice mechanical among the mirthful patrons in the room. “You have endured sorrow, anger, and great amounts of stress. I have yet to watch you experience pleasure in an equal quantity.”

“Don't I?” They ask. They wouldn't consider their position glamourous, given recent events, but they aren't unhappy _all_ the time. Annoyed and tired, maybe. But still partaking in the simple pleasures of life, like a warm meal. Omega hums in thought, a penchant it seems to have picked up from them.

“Amending statement… You appear pleasured when you consume your preferred foods. You appear pleasured when you acquire a well-rested state. You appear pleasured when you come in contact with Alpha and his distasteful toy.” Omega pauses to make a face resembling disdain at the bastardization of one of its favored forms. “However, there is one variable I am still curious about.”

“And that is...?”

_“Copulative pleasure.”_ The weapon delivers the two words with complete neutrality. “If possible, I would like to observe this phenomenon and accrue data via physical stimulation.”

The warrior’s jaw goes slack and the food they had been chewing nearly falls out of their mouth.

“I am aware your mortal customs require courtship before mating, which is why I’ve-”

Oh. So _that's_ why Omega had been poring over those flowery Ishgardian romance novels during their last trip to the market. The little details start to make sense, like how the other had been paying closer attention to their mundane tasks and asked to come along when they stopped for a bite.

“Is something amiss?” It asks when there’s a notable lack of response from the warrior.

“It’s just-” The Warrior of Light - savior of the realm, terror of Garlemald, hero of the Dragonsong War, Griffin's Bane, liberator of two city-states - is finding themselves struggling to dredge up an adequate rebuttal. Words had never been their strong suit, but what does one say to _that?_

Omega simply stares at them, indifferent to the internal crisis they’re having.

_“...Why?”_ Is all they can muster.

“You are a valuable subject.” It says this like it's blatantly obvious. “I believe this is another facet that will further increase my understanding of your being.”

They thought they had become used to the other’s painful bluntness, but they weren't exactly prepared for its latest hypothesis. The warrior takes a fraction of a second to entertain the thought of yielding to this sudden request - which turns out to be a mistake, because they can feel heat creep into their cheeks.

“The dilation of pupils indicates interest. Does my proposal interest you?” Omega’s normally flat voice has a hint of amusement to it, or maybe the warrior is simply imagining it.

“In a way,” they reply offhandedly. Shockingly, they find themselves not entirely put-off by the prospect. They're morbidly intrigued, if nothing else.

“If you intend aid me, I require your explicit consent. You may also withdraw it at any time and abort experimentation.” It closes its eyes, momentarily sifting through logs of data. “The parameters of this experiment do not include corporeal harm, unlike before. Unless you would prefer it does.”

Though it’s learned to stifle the habit while among mortals, Omega lets out a signature _blip_ while waiting for an answer. Somewhere, in the back of their mind, the warrior feels like there would be some cosmic ramification for indulging the other. But they've defied death and fate and everything else that should have broken them - one unorthodox foray and much-needed respite is a bit deserved, isn't it? They've made worse decisions before.

“Okay,” They say slowly. “I consent. For now. And I’d rather not be harmed.” Because Twelve know they've had more than enough of being put through any combination of hells on a daily basis.

Omega makes another _blip,_ its inflection livelier this time. “Conditions have been agreed upon. We will conduct this experiment once you’ve finished consuming your gross quantity of food.” Its gaze lowers towards the warrior’s unfinished meal, a silent air of impatience settling over it.

The command makes the warrior roll their eyes, despite their better judgement. The foreplay will certainly be charming.

-

The inn room smells like freshly cut plants, some exotic and some familiar, with the lamp bathing it in a lazy, flickering light. The bed might be too small for two people, the warrior faintly notices, but it's a little  late when they're already sitting on the covers with Omega across from them. They try not to notice the other scrutinizing their bare body and instead focus on the shadows decorating the wall.

Omega is still wearing a hyuran shape, the material of its outfit catching the light in a way that draws the warrior’s gaze back to the matter at hand. Its iridescent pupils and steely skin betray its inorganic origins, but one can't deny Omega has chosen a from pleasing to the eye.

It is the first to break the stalemate, curt and sharp. “Courtship preferences differ between individuals. Engage in courtship rituals when you are adequately prepared, and I will emulate your actions.”

Omega’s gaze bores through them, waiting for them to make the first move. It's unusual being watched like this, but it also sends a shiver of anticipation up their spine.

The warrior leans forward, until they can see Omega’s long eyelashes and striking features up close. It doesn’t breathe, not reacting when the warrior lets out a long, nervous exhale in the space between them. They don’t want to keep thinking about the alien nature of the other, because that would make it weirder than it already is, so they close their eyes, cup Omega’s cheek, and meet its lips with their own.

They’re surprisingly soft, lukewarm with the taste of something vaguely metallic and artificial. The warrior had braced themselves for the worst, that it would be like some magitek device lying around in Cid’s workshop: cold, hard, and unresponsive. But Omega returns the kiss, mimicking their motions and pressure when the warrior dares to deepen it.

They give a tentative swipe over Omega’s lips, adding tongue to the illogical equation. The taste of metal doesn’t go away, but the warrior doesn’t mind when it’s mapping their mouth in a way that elicits an appreciative sound from the back of their throat.

“Ah. Composition of gustatory cells correlates with observed food preferences.” Omega says when they both pull back. The statement makes the warrior quirk a brow because that is the opposite of getting into the right mood. Still, it's somehow endearing when Omega touches its lips, assessing the brief moment of contact.

“Awaiting further action.” It says with a cock of its head. There's a slight shift in its chassis, its skin dissolving and edging into another form. Impatient as always.

The warrior reaches out again, this time gliding a hand over its chest and arm, feeling for themselves the semblance of flesh that’s left exposed. Omega mirrors the actions exactly. Well. Alright then.

After a few more attempts, it’s clear that it’s fruitless trying to derive any sort of enjoyment from the eerily synchronized movements. They know Omega doesn’t possess prior knowledge or experience, but it’s frustrating, awkward and neither of them is going to get what they want at this rate. They withdraw their hand and grasp Omega’s wrist, placing it over their chest and heart.

“Touch me how _you_ want. I’ll... tell you if I don't like it.” They clarify, feeling their pulse thrum under its palm.

Omega draws closer at that, slow and cautious because mortal bodies are weak and fragile and strange. The first unguided touch of its hands makes the warrior’s spine straighten, its skin abnormally cool on their own. The brushes over their body are clinical, stilted, until they ease into something more like the warrior’s. Fluid, _natural_ , almost, with an imperceptible halt before each one.

“You are called the _‘Warrior of Light,’_ ” Omega murmurs, its fingers running over their scarred sides and making them gasp, “yet you exhibit minimal bioluminescence.”

A breathy puff of laughter escapes the warrior as Omega’s thumbs rest at the dip of their hips. “You’ll have to take up that complaint with Hydaelyn.”

It trails back up, meticulously exploring every ilm it hadn’t cared to examine yet. A part of them assumed Omega would be callously efficient about the whole ordeal but it's… nice, being given this sort of attention. Far from anything like heated touches driven by lust, but they let the other familiarize itself with their body and sate its curiosity.

“Does this form offer adequate visual stimulation?” Omega asks once it's finished at their shoulders again. When the warrior meets its gaze, it seems to morph between visages like a mirage, never settling on one.

“It's a little distracting, to be honest.” Mostly because they find themselves fascinated with the subtle metamorphosis of delicate yet intense features.

“Noted. Adjusting parameters.” Omega, still ephemeral in form, removes a strip of fabric from its outfit. It covers the warrior’s eyes like a blindfold, and they can only feel unnerved by the lack of light. The material is thin, but none of the lantern’s rays can penetrate it. “Percentage of distractions reduced.”

Well, yes and no. They can't see Omega’s ever-changing body but it makes them more aware of the differences in touch, especially where the scars healed wrong. They feel for Omega’s arm, traveling upwards until they meet the juncture of shoulder and neck, approximating where the other is. The warrior brings their hands up to frame its face, tracing a jawline that shifts between soft and sharp, as if Omega is testing to see what sort of form draws forth the loudest moans when it leans in to claim their mouth again.

“Oral stimulation appears more effective than previously.” Omega seems pleased with itself when its chassis sits upright again. “Your internal body temperature has increased significantly.”

The warrior supposes they _are_ feeling a bit warm, their mouth and skin still wanting from the kisses and touches. They let out a sigh that turns into a slight whine, unable to pinpoint exactly where the other has gone.

“Your auditory cues are unclear.” Comes the familiar deadpan. “Is this pleasurable?”

“Yes,” They answer immediately. “I want more.”

“Applying additional tactile stimulation.” There are palms against their chest, pushing them backwards so they lie flat on the bed. A position that affords the other better control, having the warrior at its mercy.

Hands waste no time in running over their chest, this time slender with delicate fingers locating their most sensitive places with a deadly precision. Other times they are larger palms, sure and firm when they grasp and press on bare skin. There is a distinct lack of calluses on its hands, its surface smooth when Omega gently skates over their shoulders, their collarbones, their nipples, their stomach. The warrior feels electric, charged and humming from the other’s touch.

The mercurial nature of the ministrations lessens as Omega finally chooses a form that the warrior seems the most receptive to. It continues to work its way down their body and leave the sensation of cool metal in its wake.

The movement stops as Omega reaches their hips. They can feel its analytical gaze on them, a question on the tip of its tongue. “Would tactile stimulation of genitals be acceptable?”

The warrior nods, now embarrassingly aware of how eager they are. Omega places a hand on their knee, gently nudging open their legs. It tentatively brushes their inner thigh, then the warrior’s arousal. The unexpected touch makes them suck in a sharp breath, one that gives Omega pause before it repeats the motion. It proves to be a quick study, its fingers stroking their sensitive flesh until the warrior is slick and unconsciously moving their hips to the other’s rhythm.

It’s easier than they thought it would be to get lost in the other’s pragmatic attentions, and they let themselves succumb to the heat coiling in the pit of their abdomen. Omega is muttering astute observations and minute adjustments to its method under its breath, as if it wants to better catalogue the series of noises and unsteady breaths that come from the warrior. There is also the persistent feeling of being _observed_ \- it all kindles the growing embers, making them dizzy.

The warrior, still prone as the other leans over them, wraps their arms around Omega’s neck and threads a hand through synthetic hair, pulling it close until their noses bump and they can find its mouth again. Omega reciprocates their clumsy kisses, expertly swallowing each moan and whine they give as they try to ground themselves. The lack of sight amplifies its touch, and it doesn't take long for the warrior to come, gasping and twitching on the mattress.

“Data gathered is sufficient.” It says quietly, still rubbing the warrior until they squirm and pull themselves away. Omega tugs the strip of fabric from their eyes, and they find it composed and straight-faced as ever.

The warrior exhales, long and shuddering in relief as they recline on the bed and let Omega process its newfound data. What they don't expect is when Omega curls up next to them, draping an arm over their spent form. They shiver as it steals the fading heat from their skin.

“Omega?” They ask, voice soft from exhaustion.

“I am... emulating post-coital behavior - mimicking your weakness to understand your strength. And,” Omega adds as an afterthought, “your body is quite warm.”

They almost want to shrug the other off, the embarrassment from before finally setting in. But something stops them - the warrior remembers Omega saying it found Coerthas disagreeable, and they have an inkling as to why it was never fond of the cold. They don’t say anything further and let it stay a bit longer.


End file.
